


Burning Bridges

by lilyh



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-05
Updated: 2014-01-05
Packaged: 2018-01-07 12:42:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1119947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilyh/pseuds/lilyh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is my secret santa gift for getsherlock from tumblr, otherwise known as the lovely Spriha!<br/>Sorry this is so late, love. Life just got in the way (also I'm a lazy person I'm sorry omg). Hope you like it!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Burning Bridges

_Set me on fire_

_You can burn my bridges down_

_Send this out to sea, send this where you want it_

_You can take it note for note and not at all_

_There’s no filling up your spaces with fictionary places_

_Imaginary faces, they don’t work at all_

_I want you to burn my bridges down_  

 

**i.**

 

It starts when John reaches out to Sherlock, a small toy in hand, an offer of friendship extended if only Sherlock takes it.

Sherlock looks up from his kneecaps to the larger child standing before him. He’s blonde, wide eyes and a hesitant smile, and tentatively says, “Would you like to come play with me? I’ve got some friends over there,” he gestures towards the direction of four or five other primary school boys, “and we could use another person for our game.”

Sherlock narrows his eyes at the boy. John, he remembers his teacher calling roll and John was this boy’s name. Outgoing and funny in a way without ever being cruel, Sherlock was almost tempted to take John’s offer but the ugly stares from John’s friends prevents the “Yes, I’d love to,” from reaching Sherlock’s lips. Instead, Sherlock shakes his head full of ebony curls and resumes his kneecap staring. He can practically hear the frown on John’s mouth and the sigh that escapes his breath as John returns to the others. 

This wasn’t the first time John reached out to a lonely Sherlock, and it certainly would not be the last. After all, Sherlock was a case that intrigued John to no end, and if anything, John was as stubborn as they came. Little did he know, Sherlock could be just as stubborn as any. 

 

**ii.**

 

One day, Sherlock finally accepts John’s offer, and from that moment on, the two are inseparable. 

Sherlock, of course, knows John as well as any person who has known John since his birth. He had spent the last few years observing the boy who never gave up on him, and he knew of the way John protected those who were weaker than him, and how John’s lip quivers right before he tells a lie, and that John always takes the longer route home when he clearly knows of the shortcut. But Sherlock is not prepared for how well John, this deceivingly average boy, seems to know him. John knows that Sherlock needs _stimulation_ , that the mundane atrocities of life weigh him down, and how Sherlock can go days on end without uttering a single phrase except “Come along, John”. 

It is inevitable that Sherlock feels jealous when John fancies a girl who just happens to fancy him back. Sherlock makes his unhappiness about the whole situation clear by pouting and becoming non-responsive when John attempts to describe the sensation of snogging a girl, _a girl_ , for Christ’s sake. Finally, when Sherlock is sure he can’t stand it anymore, he hisses, “I’m glad you’ve found someone else to occupy your time with. I’ll take that as a sign for my departure. Goodbye, John.”

John is stunned as he watches his best friend stand rather elegantly and stalk away. He shrugs it off, though, and there’s that stubbornness kicking in. John doesn’t chase after Sherlock, and Sherlock doesn’t come back. He watches John from afar as John grows closer to this girl and further apart from him and ignores the way his heart feels like it’s caving in on itself. Sherlock convinces himself that he has no heart, to always place mind over matter, and that if he had had a heart, John certainly took it with him. 

Over the next couple of years, sometimes Sherlock can feel a pang in the hollow where his heart should be when he catches John’s eye or vice versa, but he buries it with schoolwork and deductions and experiments. That pang becomes impossible to ignore, though, when the rumors begin of that party last Friday and did that girl really lose _it_ to John? It doesn’t help when Sherlock turns up to a party to see for himself and catches John in a corner, a hot mess with a half dressed girl squirming on top of him and her name at the tip of his tongue. 

It’s not long after that incident that Sherlock makes a connection with his first dealer. He does his research and only buys high end supplies, but that has no bearing on the rapid speed of which his addiction grows. It’s only when John turns up at Sherlock’s intoxicated with a broken heart that Sherlock smirks and says, “Look at us, a druggie and a drunk. Who would have ever imagined?” John grins and accepts that as an offer to step inside a house that he hasn’t been in for years. Sherlock helps him over the doorstep and settles him on his bed for the night.

And together, they cope. 

 

**iii.**

 

“Are you positive?”

“Yes, John. I wouldn’t trust anyone else with this task.”

“Sherlock… it’s not a task. It’s not a goal to be met, and it’s not a puzzle to be solved. It’s you, Sherlock. And I want to be sure that you understand that.”

“Of course I do, John. I trust you.”

John takes a moment to examine Sherlock’s expression in the pale moonlight. They had been lucky to have this night together, undisturbed and without worry about being discovered. Due to random circumstance, no one was home, and wouldn’t be until the next day. Sherlock knew that he wouldn’t be John’s first, but he wanted John to be his. He’d asked John for weeks until John finally gave in. John doesn’t know if he agreed because he loved Sherlock deeper than a friend ever could or simply because he does not trust any other person with Sherlock as much as he trusts himself, and even he is unsure of himself when it comes to Sherlock. Regardless, he is here now, in Sherlock’s bed, and there is no backing out.

Sherlock is in rare form before him: his eyes were wide, ready, and a bit scared, and the tension that normally characterized his lips is all but diminished as John leans down on top of Sherlock to press a kiss against his mouth. John hovers over Sherlock for a moment before gently straddling Sherlock’s bare chest. “You might want to grab the lube, it’ll help with the pain. And the condom. I don’t want to risk anything, not tonight.”

John lifts himself slightly from Sherlock so Sherlock can lean over and open his bedside drawer to retrieve the bottle of lubricant and a condom. The application is awkward, as expected, but surprisingly it doesn’t bother John as much as it does Sherlock, mostly because John has been through this and knows to expect the awkwardness whereas Sherlock has no experience and blames it all on himself. John realizes this by how Sherlock’s cheeks are flushing as he fumbles around with the condom. He reaches out to brush his fingertips atop Sherlock’s crown of radiantly messy curls and says, “You’re doing fine. Better than most, actually.” John figures a little white lie won’t hurt anyone.

Too nervous and too distracted to call John out on his false statement, Sherlock simply sighs as he feels John’s touch on his forehead. The two are still for a moment, as if they are capturing this moment in time as a precious memory. John wonders how in the world he got here, but he decides that whatever the circumstances were, he wouldn’t trade this moment for anything in the world. This moment of complete and utter solitude with the boy who means more than him than he can even comprehend. The soft sound of the lubricant being snapped open by Sherlock brings John back to reality.  

Sherlock’s not sure how much or little lubricant is needed, so he decides to play it safe and overcompensate. He notes how John’s cock is already half hard just from being so intimately close to Sherlock. Without a word, John leans down and kisses Sherlock before positioning himself in front of him. He isn’t surprised when Sherlock is too tight to allow John to penetrate him. John looks to Sherlock and can see him, so beautifully exposed, taking deep breaths to coax his body into accepting John’s intrusion. John presses kisses on the side of Sherlock’s neck until Sherlock nearly begs in a quiet murmur, “John, try again.”

This time he slides half of himself easily into Sherlock. At the sight of himself almost joined as one with this beautiful specimen in front of him, something primal within John reacts and he can’t help himself from quickly closing the gap until skin meets skin. The sensation of Sherlock wrapped around him nearly leaves John breathless until he looks to Sherlock’s face and then all of the pleasure disappears.

Sherlock’s eyes are squeezed tightly closed to try and prevent the tears from escaping. “Oh my god, Sherlock, oh my god, I’m hurting you,” John says, terrified. He begins to pull out and is almost completely separate when Sherlock digs his nails into John’s arm and opens his eyes wide and hisses, “Don’t you dare, John. I’m fine.” John doesn’t believe Sherlock and continues until they’re two separate entities once more.

“Sherlock, maybe we shouldn’t.”

“I anticipated this, John. I knew that this would hurt no matter who it was with and if I trust anyone with hurting me, I trust you. I want this, John. Please. I want you.”

Stunned by how open Sherlock is being, John simply nods and presses another kiss on Sherlock’s lips. “Alright, alright…” 

“Go slowly, John.”

It takes everything in him not to repeat the last time, but somehow John manages to gauge his speed in accordance with Sherlock’s expression. When skin meets skin once more, Sherlock’s eyes are closed again, but this time a small smile plays on his lips. John takes this as a good sign and begins to gently thrust into Sherlock and, “ _Oh God, Sherlock, Goooood you’re tight.”_ John’s hips begin to develop a rhythm and not too long after John is desperately trying to get closer and closer to Sherlock that he’s sure there will be bruises in the morning light, but he doesn’t care, and seemingly neither does Sherlock.

Sherlock runs his hands across John’s shoulders, down John’s back, and over John’s arse in a way that makes John moan into Sherlock’s ear. He needs John closer and closer and _so desperately close_ so he pulls John right down on top of him until their chests are heaving together and their breaths are mixing and all his senses can filter are _John John John_. Sherlock is certain that this is better than any drug he has ever tried.

John climaxes not too long after Sherlock. He plants his lips on any surface of Sherlock’s skin that he can reach as they separate once more and settle underneath the covers. Sherlock is curled up under John’s arms, his back pressed against John’s stomach, and their legs hopelessly intertwined, but neither of them care. John doesn’t say anything, so Sherlock doesn’t but instead observes how John’s breathing, at first in sync with his own, starts to gradually deepen and lengthen in time until John is peacefully asleep.

Sherlock is careful not to wake him as he twists to glance at John’s face. In slumber, it is as if all of the rough edges that characterize John in the daylight are sloughed away until all that’s left is John, _his_ John, the John who cares for Sherlock in a way that no one else ever has, who never gave up on him, who accepts Sherlock even with his countless flaws and habits. Sherlock knows that he loves him. He loves John. He loves John as much as his heart can bear and his body can contain. And for now, that is enough.


End file.
